


Blackbird

by Voiid_Vagabond (Saturn_the_Almighty)



Series: BLACK GREEN BLUE [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exploitation of Mental Illnesses, Female Jack, Focus on Specific BPD Symptoms, Forgive Me, Graphic Description, I'm not trying to misrepresent, Implied/Referenced Non-con, Kidnapping, Murder, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Bondage, Physical Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Sensory Torture, Sexual Assault, Subjectively happy ending, Torture, Weapon Violence, emetophobia warning, graphic depictions of murder, physical violence, sleep-deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturn_the_Almighty/pseuds/Voiid_Vagabond
Summary: Ryan woke up cold.Things only got worse from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MindfulWrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/gifts).

> I'd like to dedicate this to MindfulWrath. Thank you for writing such beautifully terrible things as MWDF and just the whole of The Devil's Clocktower which eventually took me down a very long internet rabbit hole researching various kinds of torture that may or may not get me on an NSA watchlist. This is my thank-you gift for everything you've done. Keep being amazing. I will be behind you no matter where you take your writing next. ❤❤❤
> 
> And, of course, to my amazing beta, [George Benji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Benji/pseuds/George_Benji), without whom I never would have finished this. Thank you for encouraging me and screaming about this terrible, terrible fic 😌 You are a life-saver!!
> 
> Please keep yourself safe when reading this. This is by no means a safe or nice read. Pay attention to the tags, I've tried to make them as specific and accurate as I can but if you notice something I missed that should be tagged, please tell me.
> 
> This is another prequel piece to my big ol' project that's coming soon. I just thought this should be a separate piece as opposed to a few flashbacks in the main fic. As always, enjoy, and don't read this if there is anything that makes you uncomfortable. I am relentless. You can skip to the **next chapter** for a brief and non-graphic summary.

* * *

Ryan woke up cold. He awoke to darkness.

The panic set in immediately. There was always light when he awoke, the soft, comforting glow from the city that filtered through his curtains. His eyes strained against the pitch-blackness around him. It was wrong. Everything was all  _ wrong.  _ He could always feel the shift of his mattress against his back, the sheets rubbing along his arms when he moved. _ Wrong. _ Ryan was sitting up, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his arms bent at an angle. There were no sheets, no mattress, no comforting glow from the city filtering through his curtains.  _ Wrong. _ He tried to move, tried to lift his arm to his face. Bound. Tied down.  _ Restrained. _ There was something sticking to his wrist. It was tight and uncomfortable and it pulled at the hairs on his arm as he struggled.   
  
And then, like the single light switch that turned on the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling... Everything lit up.   
  
Ryan had been kidnapped. Crushingly obvious by the fact that wherever he was, it wasn't his bedroom. His wrists and ankles were duct taped to a chair. Also obvious, now, in the dim but illuminating light that the single light bulb shed. The room was small and damp and made of concrete. The chair was small and rusty and made of steel. Ryan could feel the flaking edges of the metal scraping against his skin  _ everywhere. _ That was what he noticed next. After the location and the restraints. Ryan had been stripped of all his clothing but his boxers.   
  
Warning lights blared inside his head. Flashing, red and angry. He was in danger. He was vulnerable. And he had been on the other side of this situation so many times. Ryan knew an interrogation when he saw it. He recognized all the signs. The uncomfortable environment, the harsh lighting. His limbs sitting at awkward angles. The huge metal door in front of him, nestled back in the shadows. He wondered how long it would be before someone walked through that door and told him their demands.   
  
Of course, Ryan would never tell them anything. Even if they brought out knives and hammers, even if they hooked him up to a fucking car battery. He knew that nothing they could do would ever make him talk... Because his crew was the only family he had known in a long time and he would gladly put their safety before his own.   
  
Ryan hung his head and rolled out his stiff neck. The best course of action would be speaking from behind his mask. The Vagabond was always better at talking than Ryan. He cleared his dry throat and shook out his hair. It had come loose from its ponytail, or maybe he had never put one in. Ryan had no way of knowing how long he'd been out for. There wasn't a single window in the damp walls, or a clock anywhere to be seen.   
  
It didn't matter much, however, the crew was probably already looking for him. It would be a few days at most before they got to him. A shame, but unavoidable, Ryan thought. He could calm down. A few days wasn't too bad. His shoulders began to shake. A few days was also enough time to realize how expendable he was.   
  
** _No. Stop._ ** They would come for him. They would try their hardest to get him back and he was going to try his hardest to keep them safe. Keep his mouth shut, don't aggravate his captors. Done. Easy.   
  
The huge metal door squeaked on its hinges before it opened. Ryan quietly took note of that, of the fact that he could hear when they were coming. Whoever  _ they _ were. He drew his shoulders up and set his jaw as three figures slipped through the doorway and stood in the shadows. Ryan zeroed in on one of the figures and glowered. Goodbye Ryan. Hello, Vagabond.   
  
“Oh, you're awake.” A voice from the shadows made its way to Ryan's ears. Ryan let his eyes linger on the darkness a moment longer, let his gaze bore into whomever it had landed on. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and let it out while his head tilted up towards the light bulb. A trickle of water ran down along the cord, curving around the lightbulb. Ryan watched a droplet break off and fall to the concrete floor. It landed with a sound almost like a snap.   
  
"You were the one who turned on the light," Ryan said, still watching the lightbulb. "You already knew I was awake."   
  
Someone chuckled. The same voice as before. There was no humor, not a single trace of mirth in it. It was an act, hiding something more, something worse. What, Ryan could only guess. There was the sound of something being scraped across the floor, of metal on the gritty concrete. Ryan fought back a cringe as the sound got louder.   
  
A man stepped out of the shadows, holding a long metal pipe and dragging it with him as he walked. Ryan wanted to kick it out of his grasp, to beat his skull with it until it was concave. He wanted to plunge the pipe into the man's chest and smear it with his blood. Ryan was  _ not _ in the mood for this. Every agonizing step the man took seemed to scrape along the inside of Ryan's head. The sound of the pipe tore across his spine. He felt like screaming and thrashing and clawing at bare flesh. But he kept still.   
  
The flakes of rust from the chair that were sticking to Ryan's thighs slowly turned to needles. The man slowed to a stop in front of Ryan and peered down at him. He dropped the pipe unceremoniously to the floor. It sent discordant noise clattering around the room. Ryan bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted iron. The legs of his chair were rubbing against his calves and sending pinpricks of something like pain all the way up Ryan's spine. He wanted to scream. But The Vagabond didn't scream.   
  
The man crouched down and stared up at Ryan with the saddest imitation of sympathy he had ever seen. Like he was  _ so sorry _ that he had to do this. His eyes were grey and yellow from the light. His features were sharpened to a point, like so many shards of glass.   
  
"My name is Colin Flood," he said, sounding like a foster parent talking to a poor, abused child. "And I will drown you." His eyes were dark and cold. They pierced him deep, dug into him like nails in rotting wood.   
  
If Ryan shivered it was because of a draft, of all his exposed skin, anything--  _ anything _ but the way he said that. The way he sent every word into the room like it was law. If Ryan shivered, it was not because of the way the word 'drown' clogged up his throat and filled his lungs with dark, choking fluid.   
  
The warning lights in his mind kept flashing steadily, the way they had since he woke up and the tiny, quiet sirens inside his head clicked on.  _ Danger. Danger. Danger. _ So many things in this city were dangerous. So many things could kill him. But nothing in this city scared Ryan more than someone who had done this before.    
  
Making a habit of kidnapping and torture and interrogation was like an addiction. Ryan had cut himself off early, but he had seen things worse than death, had done things worse than murder. The voice of Colin Flood echoed within him.  ** _Drown._ ** There was such a familiarity in those syllables, the way he formed the word was like second-nature.   
  
Effortless. Dangerous.   
  
Ryan forced himself to keep eye-contact, even as Colin's gaze made his skin crawl. He could do this. No matter how skilled this man was, no matter how many lives he had watched crumble into dust before him. No matter, Ryan could do this. He was a survivor.   
  
"So what'll it be first?" Ryan asked. He kept the quiver out of his voice, lowering it to a growl. The Vagabond was feral. He spoke like he was stalking his prey, like he was ready to taste blood.   
  
"A good old fashioned beating? Knives? You could skip straight to the part where you pull out my fingernails because you think I have the information you want." Ryan sighed, taking in Colin Flood's apathetic gaze.   
  
"Yeah, this ain't my first rodeo," Ryan grumbled.   
  
Colin narrowed his eyes. He stood back up and snapped his fingers twice, a sharp sound that had Ryan's shoulders tensing. He shifted in his seat to mask the movement. Behind him, one of the other figures stepped forward from the shadows and stood next to him.   
  
"Beating it is," Ryan said as brightly as he could through the Vagabond's voice. The guy was easily six feet or more and Ryan didn't think he could take many hits from him.   
  
"Clearly he works out more than me. This is unfair," Ryan said. He adopted a more casual air in favor of wallowing in pain. His legs were killing him. He didn't know how long he would have to hold out but the itching was getting worse by the second.   
  
"I mean, look at his biceps! If only!" Ryan grinned at the guy, who didn't even blink. Colin was staring at him like a brand-new specimen. Ryan didn't think that bade well for him, but to be honest, the whole situation was slowly turning into a nightmare.

Ryan focused solely on keeping still as the tall guy stepped forwards and reached towards the duct tape binding his wrist. Ryan's first thought was that he was going to be tossed around the room like a wet paper towel. His expectations didn't lower when the guy tore the duct tape clean off with his bare hands.   
  
As impressive as it was, Ryan was in no state to make a remark about it. He just barely avoided letting out a yelp as the tape was ripped away. It left his wrist cold and tingling, prickles of sensation bordering on pain. Ryan set his jaw and rolled out his stiff wrist.   
  
"Hope that tape didn't cost you much. I hear they jacked the prices up around town," Ryan said conversationally, staring Colin Flood dead in the eyes.   
  
His other wrist was freed in another display of brute strength and Ryan took his time making show of how much his wrists hurt. It wasn't a lie, simply played-up truth. It helped cover up the fact that his wrists felt like they were burning.   
  
Ryan stretched out his shoulders and rolled his neck to either side like he was limbering up for a fight. And considering how this was gearing up to play out, he didn't doubt it. His ankles were next, the layers of tape torn off like they were paper. The henchman walked slowly around to the back of Ryan's chair. For a second he thought he was going to be choked to death. He felt his chair move, steady hands on either side, and then he pitched forward, thrown by the force of the movement onto the cold concrete floor.   
  
Ryan landed with a breathy grunt. He hauled himself to his hands and knees, hanging his head and letting his hair fall over his face, shielding his grimace from the prying eyes. The concrete scraped at his knees, dust and grime stuck to his sweaty palms. A pair of heavy boots appeared in his line of sight and Ryan slowly lifted his head.   
  
The guy loomed over him, blocking the light almost entirely. He pulled a handful of zip ties from his front pocket and bent down. Ryan readily held out his wrists, not wanting any more skin contact than was necessary. It would make it easier for everyone if he didn't resist a small thing like this. Besides, Ryan knew how to break out of zip ties if he needed to.   
  
The henchmen grabbed his hands roughly and held them together, trying to connect the zip ties with one hand. He fumbled with them for a while before Colin let out a sharp sigh and shoved him out of the way. His smaller nimble hands made quick work of the zip ties and Ryan tried his best to keep a neutral expression despite the crackling, electric feeling of Colin's palm on the back of his hand.   
  
"And this is why I never let you do this, Harrison," Colin grumbled, stepping back and letting Ryan's hand fall back down to his lap. He held out his hand in an inviting gesture, overshadowed by the clear impatience in the movement.   
  
"The floor is yours again," he said, letting Harrison step back into his place. He cracked his knuckles, at which Ryan rolled his eyes, and stared down at the Vagabond, crouched beneath him with his face paint smeared and flaking, his hair in tangles and not one ounce of the power he once had.   
  
Harrison's hands went to his belt buckle, the click of metal alerting Ryan. His eyes snapped up to the belt, watching as he tugged the leather out of the loops and began wrapping it around his knuckles. Ryan forced his mouth into a smirk.   
  
"This reminds me of my teenage years," he said, keeping up the carefree attitude that his survival depended on. Harrison started, glancing back at Colin in confusion.    
  
"You know, me on my knees, some guy undoing his pants in front of me. It's all coming back." Ryan managed a wink at Colin, relishing in the way he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Colin didn't grace him with a reply. He simply rolled his wrist, wanting Harrison to get on with it.   
  
Harrison reached out and grabbed a fistful of Ryan's hair. It was sudden and rough and Ryan didn't have time to cover up a yelp of pain. His hands flew up to try and wrench Harrison's hand away but his scalp felt like it was on fire, stinging, burning pain sending sparks down his neck. He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth and tried again to find purchase with his hands bound together.   
  
His fingers scraped against Harrison's hand but his grip wouldn't loosen. Ryan bit down a sob as felt the pressure increase. Harrison tugged his head backwards, tilting his face towards the ceiling. Ryan's throat was strained so much he found it hard to swallow. He choked on a shout and tried to slow his rapid breaths.   
  
"Well," Colin began, clasping his hands together in delight. He stepped around Harrison and reached out, patting Ryan's cheek roughly. Ryan flinched at the touch, letting out a quiet whine at the pain that flew across his face. Colin's calloused hand was like sandpaper against his skin.   
  
"I was going to slice your skin to ribbons with this little paring knife, you know, the one I use to cut strawberries at my house." He pulled a small knife out from behind him and held it up to the light. The blade was polished, glinting in the dim light and reflecting onto Ryan's cheek. Ryan's eyes went wide.   
  
"But no. No, this is  _ much _ better." Colin smiled an alligator smile and handed the knife behind him to the other henchman in the shadows.   
  
"Oh, you--" Ryan tried to swallow the thick saliva in his throat. "--you snatch that knife right back up. I dare you." He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, breath coming in sharp bursts through his mouth.   
  
Colin inclined his head, staring down his nose at Ryan. "I don't think I will."   
  
He grabbed Ryan's hands roughly and pulled his torso forward, putting more strain on his hair. Ryan swore he could hear the strands being ripped out, the shocks of pain radiating over his scalp. His breath caught in his throat. Between the hand in his hair and the hand on his wrists Ryan felt like he'd be torn apart. The feeling of so much skin on his own made him shudder, tremors running down his body.   
  
Colin clicked his tongue, signaling at Harrison to let go. Ryan's head fell forward and he collapsed onto his side. Harrison brushed his hand off on his pant leg, tufts of Ryan's black hair falling to the floor. Ryan watched them flitter to the concrete through half-closed eyes. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to speak. He just wanted to let the pain suffocate him until it blacked out everything else.   
  
His knees were scraped from the concrete, bloody and grimy. His head was pounding, his thighs were pricking and itching, his hands were swollen from circulation loss. Ryan leaned over and coughed onto the ground, spitting and hacking until his throat was free and he could heave in a full breath of air.   
  
Colin nudged him in the back with the tip of his boot. Ryan yelped at the touch and curled into himself.   
  
Pathetic.   
  
Colin easily stepped over Ryan's huddled form and stared at him. "It's either this or I step outside for a quick smoke and leave you in here with my favorite little subordinate." Colin dragged his gaze down Harrison's body, flicking down to Ryan and raising his eyebrows.   
  
"Well... Maybe I shouldn't say little." Colin sent Ryan his own wink, slow and deliberate and Ryan was sure he would die here.   
  
"You know, I'm starting to think a smoke might do you some good," he growled, a panting and shivering mess.  _ Anything but this. _ Colin stared unblinkingly at him. He heaved a sigh, shrugging his shoulders and tugging a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He pulled one out with his teeth and rolled it around before pocketing the pack again and strolling towards the door. He stopped just in front of it, waiting for his henchman to drag it open.   
  
"I think this says a lot about you, James."   
  
Ryan went cold. The name shot right to his core. He hadn't been called James in over two decades. No one alive was supposed to know his name. James died in the fire that burnt his childhood house to the ground. James died along with his family and the man responsible for their murders.   
  
As Colin and his henchman stepped through the doorway Ryan felt Harrison’s rough grip on his shoulders and he had to bite his tongue to stop from screaming. He couldn't show them how much he was fighting against himself, how much it hurt.   
  
The last thing he saw before Harrison stepped in front of him was Colin smiling a mirthless, toothy grin.   


* * *

  
Colin Flood stepped through the door to the sounds of coughing and retching. Ryan was sitting, doubled over and spitting onto the floor between heavy breaths. His hands were still bound, behind his back now. They were clenched into tight fists.   
  
Colin sent a cursory glance around the room and jabbed a finger at Harrison. The man looked stunned, one hand trying to buckle his belt and the other hastily wiping off on his pant leg. Colin sneered at him, a look of disgust washing over his face. He pointed at the door and Harrison hurried out, dragging it shut behind him.   
  
"Awww, my little blackbird is out of breath," Colin cooed when the echo of the door had subsided. Ryan looked up at him, his hair falling over his face. He was sweaty and grimy and locks of his hair stuck together with sticky whiteness, smeared across his face and chest. Ryan made an effort to sit up straight, licking his lips and spitting again. Colin calmly stepped out of range.   
  
"Fuck you." Ryan glared at him, channelling the Vagabond into the gaze, his words.   
  
Colin snorted. "Yeah, well. No. You don't get that privilege." He smirked at his own joke while Ryan ran his tongue along his lips.   
  
"You're awfully chipper," Ryan started. His voice was rougher, like someone had taken sandpaper to his throat. "I bet you get off seeing me on my knees covered in another man's--" Colin lashed out, catching Ryan in the ribs with his foot. Ryan cut off with a gasp of pain, his eyes blown wide.   
  
"If you say another word I will have your spine snapped in half," Colin hissed. Ryan scrambled back until his head bumped against the leg of the old, rusty chair. The scraping of the metal flaked into his hair. Ryan desperately wanted to reach up and scratch it all away. His scalp was itching, burning. It felt like he was bleeding.   
  
"Come here." Colin stared at Ryan, his eyes cold and uncaring. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, speaking as if to a helpless child.   
  
Ryan gritted his teeth. He didn't move.   
  
"Get up. Come here," Colin repeated, his voice taking on a sharpness like that of a knife's edge. Ryan sat up slowly, pushing himself onto shaky feet. He stood up, eyes cast down towards the floor and shuffled closer to Colin.   
  
"There's a good birdie," Colin praised, smiling his alligator smile. Ryan stayed silent. He focused on keeping his breathing stable even as he wanted to scream out in pain. He felt an itching under his skin. The hairs on his legs stood on end, sandy grains of concrete stuck to the sweat all over him.   
  
"I want you to tell me how it felt," Colin demanded. He reached out and grabbed Ryan roughly by the jaw. Ryan bit his tongue. The taste of blood overpowered the bitter salty taste still in his mouth. Colin yanked Ryan's face up, forcing him to make eye contact. His grip on Ryan's jaw tightened. Ryan clenched his fists behind his back.   
  
"When you killed your first," Colin clarified. His eyes were full of fire. "The man you saw standing over your family's broken bodies. Did it feel good? Tell me, is that what drove you to keep doing it?"   
  
Ryan choked on the blood and spit in his throat. Colin dug his fingernails into Ryan's cheek. His vision went spotty, blocking out half of Colin's face. Ryan struggled to keep silent, a scream threatening at the back of his throat.   
  
"How--" Ryan choked out. "How do you know that?"   
  
Colin shoved Ryan away from him, his head knocked back. Ryan stumbled, unable to get his balance. He went crashing against the chair, his back scraping along the edge as he fell. Ryan screamed, his vision blacking out for a moment. He blinked away the pain and tears, slumping to the side and sliding to the floor.   
  
Colin ignored him. He studied Ryan's face, scrunched up with pain and humiliation. Ryan was heaving wet breaths through his ragged throat, his chest rising and falling with effort. He spat onto the ground at Colin's feet. The concrete stained red where it seeped in.   
  
"I know everything there is to know about James Ryan Haywood. The Vagabond. Whatever you want to be called." Colin took a step forward and rested his boot to Ryan's chest. Ryan started to shake. His breaths shortened as Colin pressed down, constricting his lungs.   
  
"There is nothing you can hide from me."   
  
The room went dark as Ryan blacked out.   


* * *

  
When Ryan awoke for the second time he was back in the chair. He was aching and shivering and he heeded to free his hands so he could scratch at his skin, relieve the itching all over. He tried to move, his attempts cut short by the zip ties around his biceps that kept his shoulders pinned to the back of the chair. His ankles were tied similarly, just tightly enough to rub against his skin every time he moved.   
  
Colin Flood came out of the shadows, his hands delicately behind his back. Ryan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Colin took his time strolling around the room, watching Ryan like he was stalking his prey. He stopped in front of the chair. Ryan jerked his head to the side to toss his hair out of his face.   
  
"You don't like to be touched. Now why is that?" Colin asked. He walked forward, leaning in and bracing his hands on the chair back. Ryan's face was inches from his.   
  
"I will bite your nose off, you son of a bitch," he growled, baring his teeth. There was blood caked on his lips and his cheek was still smeared and dirty. Colin grinned, watching the way Ryan's eyes twitched when he breathed on him.   
  
"No you won't," Colin said.   
  
Ryan lunged forward, snapping his teeth at Colin, just narrowly missing. Colin jumped back, panic in his eyes for a split-second. Ryan didn't miss it. His face split into a grin of his own, wide and bloody and full of rage.   
  
"Yes I  _ fucking will. _ I will tear you to pieces. I will beat you to death with your fucking metal pipe, I will gouge out your insides and string them up on the walls like its  _ Christmas fucking morning!" _ Colin stumbled over the pipe he had left on the floor and made a break for the door. Ryan struggled against his restraints, snarling like a wild animal.   
  
"You're gonna wish you never fucked with me, Flood! You will burn by my hand! I am hell on earth! ** _ I am the motherfucking Vagabond!"_ ** Colin dragged the door closed on Ryan's threats, muffling his screams behind heavy metal. He paused, listening. Ryan had quieted down.   
  
"Don't let him sleep," he muttered to Harrison. "Oh. Also," he patted Harrison's shoulder. "Don't go in that room. I don't feel like touching him when you already have."   
  
Harrison nodded, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. He wondered how he could possibly keep the Vagabond from sleeping if he couldn't tell when he'd dropped off.   


* * *

  
Ryan was grinding his teeth in frustration as he pulled against his restraints. All he'd managed to do was cut deep, red lines into his biceps and rub his ankles nearly raw. He could feel his anger still simmering just under the surface. His outburst earlier probably hadn't helped his chances of survival at all but fuck, did it feel  _ so good. _

Now he was trying to block out the never ending high-pitched whirring sound that had started up. Ryan couldn't pinpoint exactly when, his sense of time having died in a hole when he came to the second time. All he knew was that it was irritating the back of his skull and was keeping him wide awake. No matter how badly he wanted to close his eyes and drift into sleep he just fucking  _ couldn't. _

He wanted something to snap between his fingers, something cold and brittle and satisfying to break. The noise was ever-present.

His eyes ached in his skull, tiredness creeping up on him. It got worse the longer the noise kept up. Ryan wanted only to sleep. He would even delay his rescue if it meant he could have just one hour of sleep.

It felt like he couldn't even form a coherent thought with all the noise in his head. It had faded into the background now but still scratched at his head and didn't let him forget its presence.

Ryan's eyelids grew heavy and he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. His throat felt tight, like he was actively holding back a scream. Ryan didn't know if that was true or not. He couldn't relax, scared of what he would end up doing if he did. As it stood, his odds of survival until rescue were low. Any number of rash actions could lessen his chances further.

Colin Flood didn't need to know that.

When the door was pushed open with a scraping and a squealing of metal on grainy concrete, Ryan had steeled himself. He still gritted his teeth against the whirring in the background. His hands flexed behind the chair, itching for something soft to grab, something fleshy to tear apart.

Colin stepped through the door and surveyed the room with something resembling boredom. Ryan didn't move from where his head was still tilted back towards the ceiling.

Colin let his eyes slowly settle on Ryan. He smirked, waving a hand to his henchman waiting outside the door. After a moment, the whirring died down. Ryan's ears rang with the sudden change and he squeezed his eyes shut, riding through the shock like twenty-foot tall ocean waves of static.

"I can't fucking wait to get out of here," Ryan mumbled. He had trouble swallowing with his throat bending backwards. He could feel eyes on him. Not just Colin's.

"Oh.  _ Oh. _ You still think you're getting out of here alive? You think your friends are gonna find anything but a cold and mutilated body?" Colin asked, his voice pitching up with incredulity.

"No. I'll make sure you're dead long before they find you." Colin stepped into Ryan's line of sight and stared down at him, his gaze completely devoid of any sympathy. Ryan dug his fingernails into his palms to distract from the itching on his legs with sharp pain.

Colin reached out sharply, startling Ryan into a flinch. He tangled a fist roughly in Ryan's hair, yanking his head upright. Ryan sucked in a sharp breath at the now familiar crackling, snapping of breaking hairs amplified against his skull.

Colin let go of Ryan, shaking out his hand and freeing the long, black hairs. Ryan let his head fall forward. He lacked the energy to do much else but try and catch a glance of his captor.

Colin stood a safe distance back, holding his hands folded in front of him. He was wearing a pair of thick black gloves. Ryan knew enough to guess why he wore them. No one liked to have to clean someone else's blood off their hands.

Colin reached down and rummaged in his jacket pocket for a second, pulling out the paring knife he'd had… yesterday?

Ryan swore it had been at least several hours. He thought that maybe Colin had left for some sleep. While Ryan got  _ none _ . Colin was wearing a different shirt, different shoes. The ones he wore now were lace-up boots. Ryan recognized them as a steel-toed brand. He could see the dark leather was stained where Colin must've tried to scrub out blood.

Behind him, the door scraped open again and Ryan's ears felt like they were bleeding. If he had to listen to that door  _ one more fucking time-- _

Harrison stepped through, accidentally kicking Colin's metal pipe from the day before-- was it a day?-- and watching it roll away. He was looking down, his limp hair covering his forehead, there was no way he could see Ryan without lifting his head. But still, Ryan found himself drawing his shoulders up and quickly snapping his gaze down.

Harrison forgot the pipe, his heavy footfalls crunching over concrete as his weight settled the pebbles.

Ryan kept his eyes trained on the floor, focus just in front of Colin's boots. He choked on a breath as he felt fingers brush against his shoulderblades, coming to rest on the chair back.

Colin chuckled, shallow in his mouth, and settled his weight on one foot, cocking his hips and staring appraisingly at Ryan.

"Something tells me you aren't exactly comfortable with Harrison as close as he is. I wonder why?" 

Colin,  _ knew the answer _ and he knew that  _ Ryan _ knew. And he could see, his grin sharp like broken glass, the way that Ryan shied away from Harrison.

Harrison roughly grabbed Ryan by his hair, a gesture he knew all too well by now. Out of the corner of his eye Ryan could see Colin looking on, a bored look in his eyes as he twirled the paring knife between his fingers.

Harrison yanked on Ryan's hair, forcing him to turn his head.

"Eyes up here, Haywood," he growled. Ryan's blood went cold. He knew that tone of voice, the same one he had used when Ryan was on his knees, choking on--

Ryan could remember the last time he'd been kissed. It had been nice and soft and warm.

Harrison kissed him like he wanted to take a bite out of his jaw. Ryan muffled a scream in the back of his throat. He tried to yank his face away but Harrison's hand in his hair only made it hurt more. He kept his teeth clenched shut, lips pulled back in a grimace. Harrison sank his canines into Ryan's lip and he jolted away.

With a satisfied smirk, Harrison let go of Ryan's head, watching him run his tongue over the bite. His mouth sting, flooded with the taste of blood. The longer he stared at Harrison the more he felt--

_ click. _

Empty. Like white noise, the static on a television. His gaze was hollow as he spat the blood from his mouth. The red-stained spit slithered down his chin as he rolled out his still-sore jaw.

"You're a piece of scum, Harrison," Ryan growled.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't know you sucked off scum, Haywood," Harrison said, the smirk evident in his voice. Ryan shook with rage, his jaw working with the tense deliberation of someone only barely restraining themselves.

"You are going to die a painful death, I swear to--" Ryan pulled against his zip-ties, cutting into his arms as he jerked forward. The chair scraped against the floor with a hideous screech and Ryan froze, wincing away from the sound that came from  _ everywhere. _

"Enough."

The spit fell from Ryan's chin and seeped his boxers. Colin shoved his way past Harrison and pushed up his sleeves. He lifted his boot and for one cold second Ryan was sure he'd be kicked.

Colin brough his foot down on the edge of the chair, right between Ryan's legs. Relief was not an option. It was simply the lesser of two evils. Colin inched the steel toe of his boot towards Ryan's crotch.

**"Little bitty Blackbird drowned in a Flood."**

Colin leaned slowly down to Ryan, brandishing the knife he held. The light bounced off the edge and flashed silvery-white across Ryan's vision.

**"Afraid of touch and afraid of Blood."**

He held the blade against Ryan's chin, deliberate and calculating. He was--  _ lying in wait-- _ The cut wasn't painful until it started bleeding.

And once it started bleeding it stretched past his jaw and up to his eyes and the pain  _ stung worse than acid. _ Ryan grit his teeth and shuddered. He would not.  _ Would not scream out loud. _

Colin dragged the flat of the blade down this throat, trailing down his chest as Ryan balled up his fists.  _ He would not scream out loud. _

The knife dropped from Colin's hand. The handle bounced harmlessly off Ryan's thigh and clattered to the floor. Ryan could only hear his own labored breathing.

"Open your eyes," Colin said.

Ryan froze.

Colin grabbed his jaw and dug his fingers in. "I want you to look me in the eyes when I make you scream in pain." Ryan steeled himself against the sharp pain in his jaw and cracked his eyes open.

He was greeted by an icy alligator grin as Colin let go of him roughly. "Good little blackbird," Colin mocked.

He sat back on his heels, giving Ryan an appraising stare for a second. Just long enough for him to think that it was _all. _That Colin would walk away again. That he might just leave him alone with that _godawful_ _noise _again.

Colin reached forward without warning and dragged his fingernails down Ryan's ribs in sharp, jagged movements.

Ryan gasped in a breath--  _ no, no, no, no, no, no,no-- I will  _ ** _not scream out loud--_ **

The pain tore from his throat in almost a roar, so loud that his ears began to ring even before his lungs stung for air, even before he was forced to heave in another breath as he thrashed against his bindings.

Colin didn't give him a moment of respite as he moved his hands to Ryan's thighs, putting his whole weight into it as he gouged deep into Ryan's flesh, drawing beads of thick, red blood as he scratched.

His head jerked from side to side with every scrape of Colin's fingernails against his flesh, and--  _ and why won't it stop? I want it to stop--  _

** _Stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP--_ **

Ryan ground his teeth and balled his hands into fists, hissing through his teeth.

"Stop, stop it-- just  ** _stop!"_ ** He barked.

Colin punched him in the gut.

Ryan felt like he was trapped underwater. The pain in his stomach was coiled tight and wrapped around his insides like a vice. It was so sudden and powerful yet it didn't go away, suspended inside him. He knew it couldn't have been any more than a few seconds but the pressure building behind his eyes told him that he  _ had to breathe. _ But his throat was closed up and he couldn't move and the pounding of blood in his ears was so loud he thought he might go deaf.

Ryan knew he was going to throw up. The way his head swam, everything getting too hot. The bile burned as it inched up his throat. He didn't try to swallow it back down. He knew he couldn't-- it  _ burned so badly, just-- _

Ryan tried. He really  _ tried, _ but he couldn't lean over far enough. He coughed watery bile onto his thighs, his lungs screaming for air as tears fell in hot trails down his cheeks. He hung his head limply as his airways cleared, tongue stinging with acid.

Colin scoffed at him, shrinking away from Ryan's humiliating display.

"You disgust me," he spat, this time bringing his boot down on Ryan's leg and  _ twisting  _ his foot. Ryan yelped, his eyes snapping open as his head jerked up. Colin didn't let up, putting his weight on his foot.

Ryan ground his teeth as he tried and failed to block out everything he was feeling, a swirling mass of pain and confusion.

He nearly cried when Colin lifted his foot from Ryan's leg  _ finally finally--  _ but his thigh was covered in blood and the skin was scraped and cut. Ryan would have cried but he didn't think he could.

He was so  _ tired. _ Why wouldn't Colin just leave? Why wouldn't he just slit Ryan's throat and get it over with?

Colin trailed his fingers down the deep scratches over Ryan's ribs and watched him flinch, his glassy eyes unseeing as he stared at the opposite wall. Colin idly wondered if he'd pass out from any more pain.

Colin bent down to pick up the paring knife that he'd dropped. He frowned at it, seeing that the perfectly sculpted tip had cracked off, leaving it jagged. It would have to do.

Ryan started to shake his head frantically as Colin lowered the tip of the knife to his skin. His voice wouldn't work-- couldn't shout, couldn't tell him to  ** _STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP--_ **

He shrieked in pain, the sharp tip almost like splinters as Colin dragged it down his arm. Ryan strained against the zip-ties, wanting nothing more than to strangle Colin until he choked on his last breath.

The door scraped across the floor in jerky movements, but it couldn't drown out the ragged screams that ripped from Ryan's throat.

"Flood, we've got a problem!" Harrison shouted, squeezing through the doorway. Colin whipped around, his fingers lifting from Ryan's skin and letting the wounds bleed freely. Ryan dissolved into choking whimpers as his whole body started to itch as the drying blood pulled at the hairs.

"What?" Colin snapped, wiping his fingers on his jeans. It left long, red smears all down his thighs. Ryan snapped his gaze up towards the ceiling and shut his mouth, breathing from between his teeth to try and slow his panicked breaths. His mouth tasted bitter.

Harrison eyed Ryan's limp form, his heaving and bloody chest rising and falling.

"There are… um... four different bulletproof trucks outside and half of them have mounted guns." Colin flinched. He stood slowly, movements so measured that Ryan thought he might snap at any moment.

The other henchman pushed his way through the door in a frenzy.

"Some guy with a handful of grenades is headed your way and he's…Uh." The henchman ducked his head back out the doorway for a second. "Yeah, he's not happy. He's got a mouth dirtier than your little blackbird."

Ryan's eyes went wide. He lowered his head, a smile spreading across his face. He looked Harrison right in the eyes and let out a peal of hysterical laughter. His fatigue was overshadowed by the fact that  _ Michael Jones himself _ was heading his rescue mission. None of Colin's men were going to make it out alive.

They'd make sure of that.

Colin clicked his tongue, cursing under his breath. He stalked over to Harrison, grabbing the pistol attached to his hip and cocking it.

"Hold them off, I'm taking him with me. Go get the van ready, would you?" He snapped, jerking his head out the door. His other henchman disappeared from the doorway and Harrison quickly shut it behind him.

"I don't know what you think you're laughing about, Haywood," Colin sneered. "They're gonna be dead before they can get to you," he said, like it was a well-known fact. Ryan glared at him.

"Ryan! Ryan!" The shouts were distant but they were  _ there.  _ Ryan perked up, the pain fading to a background static as he thought of them--  _ all of them-- _ coming to get him. He be out.

"Ryan hold on! We're coming!" He heard him, he heard Michael's voice so close and so loud, so stable to him. He let out a breath. He'd get through this.

Harrison opened a switchblade a little too close to Ryan's face for comfort and started cutting his zip-ties. Ryan whimpered at the contact, a different sort of pain when Harrison grabbed his wrists so roughly and carelessly tied them to each other with a new tie.

Ryan was pulled to his feet, more like dragged--

"Ryan! I'm coming!"

He felt those words in his chest. He felt the pain and the promise and he knew he had to try.

Ryan mustered all the strength he could. Everything he could pull from himself, ignoring the blood seeping from his half-closed wounds.

Ryan jumped, grabbing onto Harrison's head and digging his fingers into the corners of his mouth for purchase as he climbed onto his back. Harrison thrashed, trying to shove Ryan off.

Ryan grunted, quickly losing his grip. He slid his hands down, the zip tie holding his wrists over Harrison's throat. Ryan hung, all his weight supported by Harrison's windpipe. He gagged, fingers scrambling to pull Ryan off him.

No way was he going to let this opportunity slip away. Ryan tucked his legs, bracing his feet on Harrison's back. He could already feel his strength leaving but he needed,  _ needed, _ this. Sucking in a deep breath, Ryan kicked off, pulling as hard as he could against Harrison's neck.

The zip tie snapped. Ryan fell hard. He hit the ground, leading with his shoulder. His vision shuddered, jarred by the impact. Behind him, Harrison was choking, stumbling to his knees.

Ryan didn't wait for him to go down. He pushed himself up, his sweaty feet slipping on the concrete. As he crossed the room, Ryan picked up the metal pipe Colin had kicked into the corner. His throat was dry, every breath felt cracked and shallow. His shoulder throbbed, knees stung with fresh blood.

Colin was cowering against the wall, eyes wide as he watched Harrison choke.

Ryan  drew back and brought the pipe down on Colin's arms, a crack reverberating through the room. Colin yelped, his eyes screwing shut as he kept his arms over his head. Ryan growled, sliding his feet into a wider stance. He swung the pipe again, aiming to the side this time and catching Colin across the ribs.

He screamed, jolting with the force of the blow. Ryan kicked him with his heel, sending him sliding to the floor. He curled up, covering his chest and groaning into himself.

Ryan roared, his vision starting to go black. He swung again and again and again, the effort of every blow sending blood rushing past his ears, turning his hearing to cotton.

Harrison stumbled to his feet behind him, arms outstretched and dangerous.

Ryan saw his shadow looming, turning around on shaky legs. He aimed for his sore throat and swung, blindly hoping against all odds that he'd survive.

Harrison took the hit with little more than a wince. Ryan's eyes went wide. He swung again, bringing the pipe down on Harrison's head.

** _Crack._ **

And again.  ** _Crack._ ** Harrison reeled. Ryan tightened his grip and grit his teeth. And again.  ** _Crack. _ ** Harrison fell to his knees. Above him, Ryan stood with the pipe, the end pressed against his stomach.

"Oh, how the tables have turned," Ryan rasped. He leaned forward, hands pressing against the pipe. Pushing all his weight, he felt the flesh under the pipe give and suddenly--

_ Ryan would never get used to how  _ ** _easy_ ** _ it was to kill a man. _

He didn't need to look, didn't need to watch the blood seeping from beneath Harrison's still form to know that he would never move again, would and  _ could never _ hurt Ryan again.

He pulled the pipe out of Harrison's stomach and shuffled back over to where Colin was passed out, a giant gash on his forehead bleeding down past his eyes.

He let himself smile, cold and familiar, and for a second the Vagabond was back. He settled with his back against the wall and waited for his team to find him.

Ryan didn't feel it, when Colin's other henchman grabbed ahold of his head, and when the wall impacted with the back of his skull. He just knew that one moment he was awake and the next--

If the room he had been in was Hell, well, Ryan didn't know what to call the back of a van.

It was dark inside the van. The windows were tinted so deeply that Ryan couldn't be sure what time of day it was. He was curled against the wheel-well, hands bound. His head was pounding. The plastic carpet scratched against all the cuts and abrasions on his legs.

Pain.

The first thing he woke up to was wave after wave of unabating  _ pain. _ And fear. He wasn't safe--  _ yet-- _ his crew, they hadn't gotten to him. They were either dead or worse. He wasn't safe yet.

And there was Colin, legs crossed, bandages littering his face and neck. He was sitting in a foldable metal chair. Ryan wondered how he could sit like that in the rocking back of the van.

Colin sat forward and leaned his elbows gingerly on his knees as the van slowed to a stop.

"Let me tell you a story," Colin purred.

Ryan drew himself up, wary of the way Colin's right eye squinted against the bandaged cut on his forehead.  _ He did that.  _ ** _He did that._ **

Colin ran his tongue along his lips. The were cracked and swollen, caked with dried blood.  ** _He did that._ **

The van began to accelerate and Ryan lurched to the side.

"There once was a little boy named James," Colin started. Ryan held him in a steely gaze.

"He lived with his happy family in a nice house. He had enough money to get anything he wanted. Then one day a big bad man came to his house and he played with fire. And the flames got bigger and bigger until it was hard to breathe in his nice house."

Ryan was seized with a crippling dread. No one was supposed to  _ know.  _ ** _How did Colin know?_ **

"His happy family was hiding in his father's study all huddled together when the big bad man came downstairs and he had a big bad knife. And little James was still outside because his happy family had forgotten him."

Ryan lowered his head to floor, squeezing his eyes shut.

"And he saw the big bad man with his big bad knife and he ran to the kitchen where the flames were cracking all the cabinets and shattering the plates.

"Little James grabbed the biggest baddest knife he found and he ran through the nice burning house to the study."

Ryan snapped his head up. "Don't you dare," he snarled. Colin ignored him.

"The study was warm and wet and his happy family was bleeding into the floorboards.

"And James killed the big bad man. He stabbed him so many times all his blood was gone and there was nothing left to stab but a pile of guts."

Colin stopped, wiping his mouth gently with his sleeve.

"Wow. Cool story," Ryan rasped. "How're your ribs doing?" He asked, allowing himself a cheeky grin. If he was going to die, he would go down  _ his way.  _ Colin put a hand to his bruised ribs instinctively, like that might protect him from the pipe.

Colin didn't do him the honor of answering. "Isn't it familiar?" He asked instead, about the story.  _ Ryan's  _ story.

"Yeah, no shit," Ryan answered. "I want to know where you heard it," he demanded. Colin glared at him.

A sharp silence stretched between them. Ryan shivered, the cold of the back of the van getting to him. It didn't help that he was still only in his boxers. He wondered if he might be getting sick.

Ryan grew numb to the starts and stops of the van, knowing only that they were getting farther and farther away from his crew. He managed to let his eyes slip shut and keep them closed for maybe ten minutes before Colin awoke him roughly with a kick to his arm. He shocked awake, covering his arm and the open knife wound.

On the floor by his feet was a plastic water bottle full of water and half a sandwich cut into a right triangle.

Ryan eyed it suspiciously. He poked it with his toe. Colin sighed loudly and shook his head.

"I hope you don't plan to poison me," Ryan drawled, pouring all the energy he had left into fabricating an air of indifference. Colin leveled him with a cold stare, quickly and efficiently silencing him.   
  
"Of course not. I'm not stupid. No doubt you've built up an immunity to a--" He spread his hands apart chest width, "wide variety of poisons and I'm not in the mood to go looking for something fun and exotic."   
  
"Everything in front of you is perfectly safe. I'll remind you that I'd like to keep you alive and screaming for as long as I can. Even if that little stunt you pulled earlier made me rethink-- So you understand it wouldn't make much sense for me to get you sick and infected. Especially with how little sleep you've been getting," he said with a chuckle.

Ryan sneezed. His hairs stood on end and he sniffled, feeling his nose start to run.   
  
"Your poor immune system just can't keep up. I'm guessing you've been feeling a little under the weather?" Colin's grin got wider and sharper.   
  
"That's why all the sniffling. Either that or you're crying a lot more than anticipated.” Colin dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"Here's the thing, though," Ryan started. He really had to focus to keep his words from slurring.

"I'm already infected. That's kinda what happens when you grind your heel into an open wound. You failed step one, Flood." The look on Colin's face was more than worth the kick to the shin he got. He winced in pain but kept his mouth shut from then on.

Colin watched him like a hawk when Ryan caved and picked up the sandwich, cradling it between his zip-tied hands. He downed it in a few bites, like the food would disappear if he blinked.

He felt humiliated, of course, as he gulped down the water as if was the last he'd ever have. Relying on his captor-- his torturer-- for survival. Especially after he'd just beaten him and killed his henchman.

Ryan wished he knew what was running through Colin's head right now. 

"Oh, I forgot, I didn't finish the story," Colin said as the van slowed down once again. Ryan heard the parking brake engage and a door slam shut.

Colin relaxed back in his chair as the back doors swung wide open. Ryan squinted against the light change. It was nighttime, he could tell, but it was so bright. Like a stadium light was shining into his eyes.

Ryan half expected to see Harrison when his vision adjusted, but the thought that he was cold and still, a hole punched in his gut made him feel universes better at the unfamiliar face staring him down. Colin cleared his throat.

"James ran away before the firemen got to his burning house. He ran so far that he lost his way."

The henchman grabbed Ryan by the zip-ties that held his wrists and yanked him out of the back of the van. His legs scraped against the carpet, dirt and grime sticking in his cuts as he slid off the back fender and hit the ground hard.

"James faked his death when he was older, when he wanted to disappear. And then he came here, to my beautiful city." Colin spread his arms wide. Ryan looked up at him, the light casting a crisp shadow onto the ground behind him.

"And do you know what he did?" Colin asked, turning around. He began to walk away, boots crunching over gravel. Ryan was dragged upwards again by his wrists, scrambling to find his balance as he was pulled along, following Colin towards an abandoned industrial building.

Of course.

* * *

Colin stayed silent the whole walk, Eyan trailing behind the henchman. It was all he could do to not trip over his own feet every few steps. His fatigue was catching up to him again.

Colin stopped at a heavy metal door--  _ oh no not again-- _ and waited until Ryan had stopped to open it. The door didn't scrape against the floor as it opened. He straightened up, steeling himself for whatever would come. No matter what, he had to keep telling himself that his crew would come. Even if he was disinclined to keep up that hope for long.

Colin pushed Ryan,  _ hard,  _ into the room and closed the door behind them. It was dark and all Ryan could hear was the shuffling of his own feet as he scrambled to stand up in the darkness.

Colin's voice came from in front of him.

"Do you know what he did?" He reiterated. _ Click. _ A light flicked on. Ryan squinted against the yellowish halogen glow.

The room was strikingly similar to the previous. A single lightbulb, this one with a silver bowl to reflect the light it shed-- a parabola-- and a chair.

This chair wasn't rough and rusted, Ryan noticed. Somehow that was suspicious.

Colin stepped into the center of the room. "He took big bad knives and he stabbed people to death. And he thought he was doing it for good. After all, the people he killed were criminals."

"But James killed an innocent man. Someone named Peter Flood. A good man with a happy family."

Ryan let out a breathy laugh. He rolled onto his back and glanced up at Colin. "Okay, let me stop you right there. Your father was not innocent."

Colin flinched. He stomped over and hauled Ryan upright by his arms, deliberately digging his fingers into the cuts. He started shoving him towards the chair and Ryan stumbled over his feet.

"Do you know how he got so rich and powerful?" He asked, sitting himself down without protest. The last thing he wanted was retaliation for what he'd done to Harrison--  _ if that was even a thought in Colin's mind--  _

"By starting at an entry level job and proving his worth until he climbed his way to the top," Colin replied, getting straight to work on the zip-ties. Ryan rolled his eyes. He was tired of them. Why couldn't Colin shut his damn mouth and just kill Ryan already?

Or, and this was more appealing, why didn't the Fakes burst through the door right now? Sooner rather than later. He didn't think he could take any more of Colin's scratching, being honest.

"No." Ryan winced as Colin tightened his left wrist a bit too tight. "Actually, it was by stealing his employees wages. And a little bit of trafficking on the side."

Ryan pushed, even as Colin leveled him with a dangerous stare. "He sent his workers into poverty. He stepped over their broken bodies to reach the top. I just sent him tumbling back to where he should be."

Colin dug his finger into Ryan's leg, right into a cut. Ryan hissed in a breath through his teeth, tensing his muscles against the pain.

"You gutted him in an alley," Colin said lowly.

"Where. He.  _ Should be," _ Ryan enunciated.

"Oh, you son of a--" Colin started forward, his fist raised.

"So it's revenge, then? That's why you do this?" Ryan piped up.

Colin stopped and sneered at Ryan. "You've killed how many people now? Fifty? A hundred?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "How many people did your dad kill? How many starved or froze to death because he was a greedy slut? Two hundred? No. Two thousand," he hissed.

"I lost my father!" Colin screeched.

"You think you're the only fucking person in the world who's lost family? You think you deserve to kidnap and torture someone because you feel entitled?"

"Guess what, Flood. You don't get to decide what you want justice to be," Ryan spat.

"I'm gonna let you know right now. I will kill you." Colin said it with an edge, clenching his fists tightly.

"Glad we're on the same page."

Colin drew a sharp breath and reared back, sending his palm flat against Ryan's cheek. His head snapped to the side.

"Ow!" Ryan shouted. "Fuck, you've got  _ quite the arm _ on you, Flood," he gritted out. Colin hit him again, harder.

"You son of a bitch!" He shouted. "You attacked me! You  _ killed _ Harrison!" Like he was surprised. Ry-- the Vagabond was a murderer, what did he expect?

"It's what I do, Flood, get with the program," Ryan shot back, spitting blood onto the ground. "Now, are you gonna kill me or not?"   
  
"Oh, don't worry, little Blackbird," Colin cooed, switching gears like lightning. He bent down and patted Ryan's thigh. "It'll all be over soon." Colin curled his fingers and dug into Ryan's flesh, soaking in the strangled scream that Ryan tried to choke down. His fingernails scraped at the healing wounds, tearing them open again. Fresh blood bloomed in tiny beads along the thin scars. Ryan sucked in his breath through his teeth.

Colin stepped back, taking out that  _ horrible little knife _ he was so fond of. He didn't hesitate for a second, lunging forward and stabbing the knife blade-deep into Ryan's forearm.   


He screamed, his voice tearing from his throat and filling his ears. He thrashed against his bindings, he shook like a flame in the wind but Colin did not flinch. He kept the knife buried in Ryan’s arm, blood gushing from the wound and spilling over the armrest and onto the ground. His fingers quickly stained red.   
  
In the blink of an eye it was all over. Later, all three of them would recount the incident as if it had lasted ten years.   
  
Jack pushed open the door and made way for Michael, shotgun at the ready. He cocked, aimed, fired. All with practiced movements, all with so much assurance. The round went straight for Colin’s head. He was dead before he hit the ground, blood and brains splattered on the floor. Ryan flinched away from the shot, catching a bone shard across the cheek. For a second everything was quiet. Michael’s safety clicked on and let the shotgun fall to the ground with a clatter.   
  
The wound on Ryan’s arm had slowed to a trickle. The blood flowed in thin, sticky rivulets to fill the growing puddle at his feet. Michael rushed to him, his eyes blown wide.   
  
“I'm so sorry we didn't get here sooner!” he shouted, his hands hovering with uncertainty. There was so much to look at, so much they'd done and he didn't know where to start. Ryan was crying, silent and fearful. He was mumbling something under his breath but the ringing in his ears hadn't subsided and Michael didn't catch what he said.   
  
His fingers shook as he passed his fingers over the zip-ties and he tried to ignore the deep, scarring scratches all down his chest and arms. Ryan was wheezing with every breath, moving his mouth like he wanted to speak.   
  
"It's okay, it's okay, I'm so sorry," Michael mumbled, flicking open his switchblade to cut the zip ties.   
  
"I'm going to get you out safe, I promise." Michael blinked back tears at the sight of Ryan's legs, bleeding and bruised. He reached out and took Ryan gently by the shoulders, trying to help stand up.   
  
Ryan screamed like he'd been burned. He jolted back, sliding off the chair and hitting the floor, his shoulder impacting roughly with the concrete. He gulped in breaths as she shook his head at Michael.   
  
"No! No no no, please! Please, you can't-- don't-- no no no no no!" Ryan babbled, squeezing his eyes shut as he shakily covered his face with his hands. Michael knelt down beside him, his hands firmly on the ground.   
  
"Ryan, what's wrong? What did he do to you? Are you okay?" Michael sucked in a breath.   
  
"Did I hurt you?" he dared to ask, fearing the answer already. Ryan shook his head again.   
  
"No. Just-- just can't touch me, is all," he choked out, finally calming down a little. "Just can't touch me ever again," he whispered, laughing mirthlessly.   
  
Michael's eyes went wide. He turned away and bit his tongue. He wished he had let Flood die painfully. Ryan sat up, weakly supporting himself with shaking arms. Michael hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve, schooling his expression before turning back to Ryan.   
  
"I'm going to take you home, Ryan," Michael said. He shrugged off his jacket and set it on the floor between them. "Can you put that on?" he asked, eyeing the gash in Ryan's arm, still seeping blood. He needed medical.  _ Fast. _

Jack wordlessly handed Michael a strip of cloth she'd torn off her shirt. Michael stared at it, trying to remember if he should make it into a tourniquet or not. Ryan tugged at a corner of the frayed fabric, taking it carefully from Michael and trying it around his arm with difficulty.

"Want me to help?" Michael asked. Ryan didn't answer. He was running on autopilot at this point. Ryan pulled the jacket towards him and struggled into it. The fleece lining was warm and Ryan closed his eyes and sank into the comfort, ignoring the pinpricks of pain as the fibers rubbed against his scratches.   
  
When he opened his eyes again, Michael was struggling out of his jeans. Ryan scrambled back, scraping his leg against the floor as he backed away. Michael paused, wide-eyed and that dark look came over him again.   
  
"It's okay. I won't hurt you," Michael promised, his voice wavering. He kicked off his jeans and nudged them towards Ryan. It sent a sting right through his heart that he even had to  _ say that. _ _   
_ _   
_ "Put those on. No skin, right?"   
  
Ryan collected himself as much as he could. He pulled on Michael's jeans, too short for him but so warm, and sat on the ground, not trusting himself to be able to stand.   
  
"Can you stand?" Michael asked, holding out his hands before remembering Ryan's fear and pulling his hand away. Ryan shook his head minutely. Michael shrugged.   
  
"Alright. That's okay. I'll give you a piggy-back ride," he said, turning around. Ryan stared at him, mutely in awe of how much he cared, how much he was willing to do for Ryan's safety.   
  
It took him a few tries, but he was finally leaning against Michael's back, holding on around his neck. Michael gingerly grabbed onto his thighs and hefted him up, grunting as Ryan's weight settled on him. Ryan closed his eyes and sighed against Michael's shoulder. His hands were warm and comforting, the jacket wrapped around him was soft. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of Michaels shirt.   
  
"M' sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," Ryan mumbled. "Pitiful. Useless. Thought I was going to die," he whispered.   
  
Michael squeezed Ryan's legs __ . "No. You're not any of that. We will always come get you, Ryan. You mean so much to us. We love you."   
  
Ryan's body shook as he sobbed against Michael, blind to the world around him. All at existed was the warmth of the jacket and Michael's hands on his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hoo boy, that hurt, didn't it? (It hurt me writing it!)
> 
> This fic does include my Vagabond's backstory! But, because it's peppered in there and you'd have to sift through some rough scenes to find it, I am going to be posting it in 'Words From Our City.'
> 
> The main fic that this and BLACK GREEN BLUE are prequels for is coming soon. I say soon to be as vague as possible with the timeframe. I'm trying to have it completed or mostly completed before I start posting it. I'm expecting a great response to this fic! It's been a wonderful time writing it and I really do hope y'all like it as much as I do.
> 
> As always, I love you and comment and leave kudos if you can!! ❤️❤️❤️


	2. Chapter 2

If you haven't read this because there are topics that make you uncomfortable then good. Be safe. That being said, some of the things that happen in this fic come into play during the main fic. You'll find out why they are later, but I'll list them here for your safety and convenience.

Ryan has an intense uncomfort and fear at being touched, especially by a stranger and without his consent, and it is mainly a result of his BPD. Sometimes he feels trapped or stuck in his skin and everything feels wrong, every single thing he brushes against is nearly nauseating because just feels so WRONG. And what his captor Colin Flood does is pretty much the worst case scenario. I won't get into the specifics, but he basically violates Ryan. Mainly just by touching and scratching him all over and not listening to his protests (he does draw blood with his scratching and leaves Ryan with scars). His fear is also simply a result of a dislike of human contact, which in his case is not caused by any underlying issues. He just doesn't enjoy it much except in extenuating circumstances like with someone he loves or deeply cares about.

In addition to that, Colin purposefully deprives Ryan of sleep. His whole reason for torturing Ryan is revenge. He feels absolutely no remorse for what he is doing. Ryan, before he joined the Fakes, was a Hitman. He didn't care about what he did to people back then, but he does now. Colin doesn't care about his character development, though, because Ryan killed his father, a very wealthy and powerful man.

Colin thinks that Ryan's murder of his father justifies what he is doing. But torture can not be justified. It is wrong. I will not argue with anyone on this point, but torture does not work and it is always wrong.

To recap, Ryan has a problem with touch in certain situations and this only makes it worse for him in the future. And his past will never be truly gone, no matter how hard he tries to be better and to bury it. The people he killed are going to stay dead. And he is trying to cope with that.


End file.
